CHAPTER IV
DJÓMUSHKA
"The little tree burns
For the lightning has struck it.
The nightingale's nest
Has been built in its branches.
The little tree burns,
It is sighing and groaning;
The nightingale's children
Are crying and calling:
'Oh, come, little Mother!
Oh, come, little Mother! 10
Take care of us, Mother,
Until we can fly,
Till our wings have grown stronger,
Until we can fly
To the peaceful green forest,
Until we can fly
To the far silent valleys….'
The poor little tree—
It is burnt to grey ashes;
The poor little fledgelings 20
Are burnt to grey ashes.
The mother flies home,
But the tree … and the fledgelings …
The nest…. She is calling,
Lamenting and calling;
She circles around,
She is sobbing and moaning;
She circles so quickly,
She circles so quickly,
Her tiny wings whistle. 30
The dark night has fallen,
The dark world is silent,
But one little creature
Is helplessly grieving
And cannot find comfort;—
The nightingale only
Laments for her children….
She never will see them
Again, though she call them
Till breaks the white day…. 40
I carried my baby
Asleep in my bosom
To work in the meadows.
But Mother-in-law cried,
'Come, leave him behind you,
At home with Savyéli,
You'll work better then.'
And I was so timid,
So tired of her scolding,
I left him behind. 50
"That year it so happened
The harvest was richer
Than ever we'd known it;
The reaping was hard,
But the reapers were merry,
I sang as I mounted
The sheaves on the waggon.
(The waggons are loaded
To laughter and singing;
The sledges in silence, 60
With thoughts sad and bitter;
The waggons convey the corn
Home to the peasants,
The sledges will bear it
Away to the market.)
"But as I was working
I heard of a sudden
A deep groan of anguish:
I saw old Savyéli
Creep trembling towards me, 70
His face white as death:
'Forgive me, Matróna!
Forgive me, Matróna!
I sinned….I was careless.'
He fell at my feet.
"Oh, stay, little swallow!
Your nest build not there!
Not there 'neath the leafless
Bare bank of the river:
The water will rise, 80
And your children will perish.
Oh, poor little woman,
Young wife and young mother,
The daughter-in-law
And the slave of the household,
Bear blows and abuse,
Suffer all things in silence,
But let not your baby
Be torn from your bosom….
Savyéli had fallen 90
Asleep in the sunshine,
And Djóma—the pigs
Had attacked him and killed him.
"I fell to the ground
And lay writhing in torture;
I bit the black earth
And I shrieked in wild anguish;
I called on his name,
And I thought in my madness
My voice must awake him…. 100
"Hark!—horses' hoofs stamping,[52]
And harness-bells jangling—
Another misfortune!
The children are frightened,
They run to the houses;
And outside the window
The old men and women
Are talking in whispers
And nodding together.
The Elder is running 110
And tapping each window
In turn with his staff;
Then he runs to the hayfields,
He runs to the pastures,
To summon the people.
They come, full of sorrow—
Another misfortune!
And God in His wrath
Has sent guests that are hateful,
Has sent unjust judges. 120
Perhaps they want money?
Their coats are worn threadbare?
Perhaps they are hungry?
"Without greeting Christ
They sit down at the table,
They've set up an icon
And cross in the middle;
Our pope, Father John,
Swears the witnesses singly.
"They question Savyéli, 130
And then a policeman
Is sent to find me,
While the officer, swearing,
Is striding about
Like a beast in the forest….
'Now, woman, confess it,'
He cries when I enter,
'You lived with the peasant
Savyéli in sin?'